I was worried. There was no doubt about that. My flatmate, Sherlock, seemed troubled and I swear I saw tears in his great silver eyes. But when I asked him what was wrong, he didn't answer and fled the apparment as soon as Lestrade called leaving me on my own. Having no urge to talk to our landlady, I sat and pondered the matter. To this day, I do not know what possesed me to pick up my laptop. All thoughts of blogging went out of my head when I saw Sherlock's email open. Being honest, it was a form of payback. He always reads my private messages so I read his. There was nothing of interes; case information had flooded in. But I spied an email from Mycroft. The subject was 'Mummy'. A wicked grin crossed my features. All I knew about the Holmes family could be written on a postcard. Finding out why two grown men called their mother 'Mummy' was one of my goals in life. To my despair, I didn't find anything on that matter. I did find out something shocking about the mother of my best friend. The email consisted of a picture of an elegant white marble gravestone with fancy gold italics that read;
In loving memory of
Anna Holmes
April 12th 1976 - March 28th 2007
Dearly missed Mother, Sister and Aunt.
Underneath the photo was some text.
It wasn't your fault, Sherlock. I'm here if you need to talk.
I gasped. After some mental calculation, I realised that 3 years ago today, Sherlock's 41 year old divorced mother died leaving a 22 year old Sherlock in her wake. Poor sods. Too young for both of them. Out of curiousity, I accessed Sherlock's reply. It was just a simple sound clip. When I clicked it, it played 'This Love' by Marroon 5, if John was correct. Even though it wasn't a particularly sad song, I still had tears trickling down his cheeks as I listened to the words and the voice. His voice. So pure and perfect and sad. I was just dabbing away the final tears when Sherlock walked into our flat. He looked so dejected and utterly unlike Sherlock that I gathered his skinny figure into my arms and hugged him hard. What he did next was completely unexpected. He broke down. Literally melted. So much for highly functioning sociopath. He sobbed his heart out, tears absorbing into my jumper and after that was sodden, into the union jack pillow whilst I made him some much needed tea. We didn't talk; that was for the morning. We just watched Jeremy Kyle, drank our tea and sat in sad but companionable silence.